


Starting a Sex Riot

by recrudescence



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-22
Updated: 2010-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercedes and Kurt have a night in after Kurt's mini sexuality crisis (spoilers for Dream On).</p><p>Contains underage sex between consenting but inebriated minors. I do not encourage irresponsible behavior, identity theft, or trucker hats. Actual truckers are forgiven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starting a Sex Riot

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt from the Glee Kink Meme: _Mercedes fucking Kurt with a strap-on._ I KNOW, I KNOW, BUT GIVE IT A CHANCE, OKAY?

"Let me just make sure I've got this down. You started dressing like a tractor driver because your dad is dating Finn's mom?"

"Y...es?" Kurt's gaze went flicking down towards his lap, both hands fidgeting with the trucker hat. His head felt naked without any accessories or hair products, but a trucker hat was still a trucker hat

Mercedes frowned at him dubiously. "It's not some kind of misguided, ironic, hipster wannabe, social-commentary thing?"

"No?"

A snort. "And here I was trying to be optimistic about it. Kurt, I'm sorry, that is the stupidest thing I've heard all day. And that includes Brittany saying elephants are in the dinosaur family."

"She said that?"

"That's your girl now," Mercedes patted him on the shoulder and gave a dazzling, insincere smile. Kurt cringed. "Get with the program."

"She's not my _girl_."

"Does she know that?"

"I gave her a perfect record and she gave me my first kiss. We're good."

"Of all people to kiss..." Mercedes had a knack for trailing off her sentences very eloquently.

"Excuse me, maybe I'm just not looking in the right places, but do _you_ see a line of people begging for the privilege? Not everyone can just throw on a Cheerios uniform and snag a hot boyfriend." That came off as bitter even to him.

"You think Puck's hot?"

"_Everyone_ thinks Puck's hot. If you like guys with no hair."

"Finn has nice hair."

"He so does." Wince. "Maybe."

"That's, like, almost incest." She sounded surprisingly cheerful about the fact. Something was seriously wrong with that girl. "Wanting to hook up with the guy whose mom's hooking up with your dad."

"There _is_ no hooking up." Not for lack of _plotting_.

"Do you want your dad to be happy or do you just wanna get your grind on?"

He looked up, nonplussed. "I can't want both?"

"Wow." She shook her head disbelievingly. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?"

"Okay. You know what? I really, really _like_ him. Even though he's eight feet tall and incredibly hetero and has woefully uncontrolled vibrato. And it seemed like it might work. No one said that these things had to make any _sense._"

"And you've never even done anything with another guy." She sounded pensive, a little sad, and Kurt didn't know whether to be defensive or annoyed.

"Again with the no-one-lining-up thing."

"Okay, look." Mercedes fixed him with one of those I'm-about-to-say-something-important faces. "You're wallowing. It's almost the weekend. Call me when you put two and two together."

\---

 

Kurt made Jell-O shots. He habitually used the basement fridge for snacks and refrigerated skin products anyway. His dad was out with Finn's mom and it seemed like a typical teenage act of rebellion, even though he color-coordinated the flavors with the Dixie cups and made sure there were coasters on hand, just in case. Bright blue Jell-O and white furniture made him jittery.

Mercedes sailed through the door with _Queer as Folk_ DVDs—Kurt couldn't figure out why _she_ owned those when he didn't—and printed instructions for a corresponding drinking game.

It went fabulously until there was a scene involving nudity and ice cream. Kurt's face must have assumed a particularly pathetic expression because Mercedes sat up in the nest of pillows they'd created and eyed him. "You think that's hot?"

He wanted to say something blasé and off-the-cuff. What spilled out of his mouth instead was, "Sometimes you just...you _want_ it. And you can't _do_ anything about it."

"Yeah, you're completely helpless." Mercedes batted her eyes melodramatically. "Nothing at all? Really?"

Kurt grinned at her, loopy from the alcohol. "You really want to know?"

It hadn't been until winter that he'd gone about working up the courage to buy _any_thing, but Santana had thrown a Slushie in his face the day before so he hadn't felt bad about using her credit card. Girls should know better than to leave purses under the bleachers. He always kept _his_ in a locker when it wasn't on his body

Kurt didn't care much for math beyond calculating measurements, but he figured the accumulated costs of all previous Slushies thrown, plus the additional expenses of dry-cleaning and facial toner and general pain and suffering from having to explain the situation to his stylist...it all came to a total that was at _least_ enough to purchase a quality sex toy.

So he had.

Mercedes had both hands to her mouth. "Oh. My. God."

Kurt stolidly downed another shot. It tasted like raspberry acetone. "You wanted to see!"

"_Yeah_." Mercedes was still staring into the drawer and her voice was a little higher than usual. "And I thought this would end like the time Puck asked if you had on a thong. Y'know, when you shrieked like a little girl and bitched about how your face was gonna clash with your vest for the rest of the day. And seriously, Kurt, _vests_? Because unless your middle name is Shrek or Aladdin, that's kinda—"

"Oh, I see." Kurt studied his cuticles, feeling his cheeks burn and hating every capillary. "This is called changing the subject, right? Let's do that."

In unison, they seized Dixie cups and slurped down the contents.

No one spoke. Kurt waited.

"Why do you have a _strap-on_?" Mercedes blurted out after a few tense minutes, during which she had obviously been instructing herself not to ask. "Why would a _guy_ need to strap _anything_ on?"

"Therewasasale."

"Hold up, I'm sorry, I thought for a second you said there was a _sale_." Now she was smirking at him like Kurt was some adorable new brand of moron.

"If you made a purchase over a certain amount, they'd throw in an additional staff-recommended item. I just wanted to get things over with, so I didn't pick one. They did it for me, and I was using a girl's credit card, so clearly someone _assumed_..." He scuffed his hand along the covers. Explaining wasn't helping. "It's not like I was going send it _back_. 'Oh, sorry, don't need this! I'm not _actually_ a Latina cheerleader, just borrowing the identity of one!'"

"So, do you ever...?"

"No, Mercedes, I use it to dust the furniture." He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, draping an arm over his forehead.

"I was going to ask," she said smoothly, "if you ever wish you had someone to try it out with."

Kurt did another shot.

 

\---

 

"Boys are ridiculous."

"Damn right."

"No," Mercedes took great pains to enunciate. "I mean, boys are _ridiculous._"

"Are you expecting me to disagree with you? Because I'm not."

"If I was _ever_, for some reason, to expect someone to have boysenberry lube, it would be you. And I don't even know what the hell a boysenberry looks like."

"If I was ever going to get naked and do obscene things in the presence of a lady, it'd be you."

Mercedes hummed a few bars of "The Lady is a Tramp" and kissed him on the cheek, which made his toes curl into the softness of the carpet. "I had a huge crush on you, remember? I can deal with it."

All things were muzzy and peaceful and there was a hand on his stomach that wasn't his own, and Kurt wriggled up into the contact. He felt flushed and languid and warmth-filled all over, like he'd been downing straight-up endorphins instead of ineptly mixed shots. "Did I take my pants off or was that you?"

"That was you," Mercedes answered lightly, like there wasn't anything out of the ordinary about it. Maybe the drinking had kick-started the same effect in her. She paused, letting one silver-painted fingernail skim against Kurt's navel, above the waistband, until he was batting at her with both hands and giggling like an idiot.

"What," she asked, suddenly serious, "would you do right now if there was a guy here instead of me? Like...if Finn was here?"

"Blow him," Kurt said dreamily, without any hesitation. "I really want to try that."

"Jesus, Kurt..." She looked glassy-eyed, though that could have been from the vodka. "I can't help you there, you know."

"Babe, you know I love you anyway." The words were a little hazy, but he meant them.

It wasn't anything completely new. They'd had too many fashion consultations and frenzied fitting-room adventures for casual baring of undergarments to be an issue. And Kurt was sure they'd polished off a good number of the Jell-O shots, which had to help.

So when Mercedes's jeans and top were folded on one of the chairs, it felt more like a really bizarre makeover than anything else when he went about helping her adjust the straps and fasten them around herself. In a bra and underwear and...that. Kurt took a deep breath.

"Is it okay?" She looked uncomfortable.

"Y-yeah...yeah, I just haven't..." he fumbled, feeling wetness against the inside of his shorts and reflexively turning his head away. "I'm not used to seeing it on a real person."

But it was. He knew the shape of it, very well, but it was surreal actually having it _on_ someone. Curving, pink-tinged and thick—he hadn't known how to go about choosing the right one, other than guessing at sizes, so he had gone by color—with the latex of the harness buckled around her hips. Somehow, the blush on her cheeks looked like it might be more than just makeup, but that could have been wishful thinking on Kurt's part because his own face felt ready to dissolve from the heat in it. He swallowed. Puck wasn't good enough for her. Anyone lucky enough to land a girl like this, somehow who was sweet and reliable and confident and _insane_ enough to do _anything_ for a friend, should know how to treat her right. Kurt managed a shaky little laugh. "You really are going to start a sex riot."

She beamed. "Does this mean we get to tell Ms. Sylvester 'I told you so'?"

He didn't say anything. Sliding off the edge of the bed, kneeling without a single sound and sucking it, letting the base of it nudge against her as he parted his lips over the cool tip of the toy. _This is what it feels like. Only silicone, nothing real, but this is what it feels like to get on your knees in front of someone and really **do this**_.

His back bowing, fingertips touching lightly at the soft smoothness of her thigh, and then he was boldly letting them trail along the hem of her panties. "I can help you out, too." His voice was cracking and somehow that was the most embarrassing thing about the entire situation. "We should be fair about this."

He felt her breath stutter and tremble, and he looked up. "Or...did you and Puck...?

Somehow, wearing nothing but a strap-on and her underwear, Mercedes could still pull off looking haughty. "You think I'd put out for just anybody? Hell, no."

"Good. Everyone's first time should be special."

"Yeah, I saw that sex-ed DVD, too." She rolled her eyes, then focused them on him, narrow and dark and challenging. "Show me what you'd do if you had him here. What if Finn was looking at you right now? What would you do for him?" Eyebrows easing upward, fingers transferring the much-maligned boysenberry lubricant from her hand to his own. "Everyone knows you can put on a kickass show."

That was all it took to have Kurt squarely in the center of his bed, tucking his knees under him, underwear skimmed off and onto the floor before he had time to think about it. Popping open the container, sending the sweet scent wafting through the air. Slick and sure and _in_, a whimper tangling in the back of his throat and his legs involuntary pushing apart even further. Another. Rocking down onto his fingers, head back, throat bared, and Mercedes breathing in sharply behind him while whispering a few filthy selections that should have had no place in the mouth of a dentist's daughter.

"I'd show him..." Kurt barely heard his own voice, "He wouldn't know what to do, so I'd have to...do it...show him m'self. And I wouldn't mind him watching because I'd know he'd just want to learn so he could do his best."

_Frankenteen_. The white knight who stepped in to save Kurt from the dumpster whenever he could. A little slow on the uptake, but always with good intentions. Strong and powerful enough to _easily _go about holding him down and gasping and groaning and carefully, uncertainly fucking him _blind_. Kurt's fingers curling, jaw dropping, knees pressed into the bedding.

"Yeah?" Mercedes was saying softly, more strained than he could ever remember hearing her, and Kurt fought the urge to bury his face in the pillows.

"And I'd...I'd let him fuck me. Any way he wanted." On his back, on his knees, on his stomach, on the damn 50 yard line if that's what Finn had a fetish for. He'd considered the possibilities thoroughly, but saying them out loud had him gritting his teeth in shame even as his cock pulsed against the curve of his palm. "_Anything_." Squirming back onto his own undulating fingers, bucking up into the hand cinched around his erection. The mattress dipping, a soothing hand stroking over his back, and Kurt's eyes screwed shut.

There. Blunt and wide and slick against the base of his spine. Mercedes petting up and down his back, two of his fingers still hilt-deep and slippery-squirming inside him, and for a moment Kurt wanted nothing more than to melt through the mattress and _die_.

Her lips were damp and soft against his ear. "Can you really handle it?"

"Yeah, oh, fuckyeah, just do it. Just fuck me with it." Pushing up onto his hands and knees, sweat dragging in rivulets over his skin, thighs parted and chest heaving and Mercedes faltering behind him, not moving. "_Please._"

He turned his head, looking at her for the first time. Mercedes's eyes were heavy but alert and when she kissed him her mouth was tart with artificial raspberry and genuine need.

Crying out sharp and loud, and this was _nothing_ like slicking the toy and working it into himself; no, this time it was _Mercedes_\--someone else, an actual _second person_—who was using one hand to guide it and had the other braced to the mattress. Kurt's head falling forward, body lurching from the effort it took to move his unsoiled hand over hers to grasp and grip and lock their fingers together, all while feeling the rub of it inside him and the heat of her skin and the curves of her breasts and the slick-silky material of her bra against his bare back.

Finn didn't see him like this. Finn probably didn't know a single thing about him, probably only recognized him as a cartoonish little queer out of the corner of his eye, and Finn would never, ever trust him the way that Mercedes did. And somehow, none of it seemed to matter as he was working himself back against the pressure as she rolled her hips forward and every muscle in his body obligingly _clenched_, and the next thing he knew he was spilling over his fingers and spattering the sheets he'd just washed and he was _moaning_. He _never_ moaned.

"Oh my _God_." Mercedes was saying it again and again. Undoing the harness to let it fall beside the bed, then reaching out to him, and Kurt went melting into the embrace, lax as all the Jell-O they'd consumed.

Somehow, he was able to handle dragging on a fresh pair of boxers and then dragging himself into bed, sheets gliding against his legs and Mercedes's arms gliding around his waist. No toothbrush, moisturizer, or sleep mask for once. Maybe this was what it was like, being so comfortable around someone that even skin-replenishing didn't matter. For one night, anyway.

The ceiling blurred before his eyes and his head lolled against Mercedes's arm; one hand blindly, clumsily cupped her face so he could urge it close enough to kiss. "You're gorgeous." He was rather proud of his ability to speak in full sentences. "And whenever you end up with someone who deserves you, you're going to make them so happy every day you're together."

Mercedes hummed vaguely into the pillow, but he could tell she was pleased. He would have grinned if he wasn't preoccupied with not drooling before passing out. "Hey," she murmured sleepily. "We'll get it right. We've still got time." Then she started, her eyes flying open. "Is your dad gonna walk in?"

"Door's locked," Kurt mumbled, nuzzling into the smooth curve of her shoulder. "And I left a note on it saying I'm getting smashed and watching soft-core porn. Everything's fine."  



End file.
